Just Breathe
by Small J
Summary: In which Obi-Wan has a writing assignment. Can he figure it out? Based on a real conversation.


**Rating: **K

**Summary: **In which Obi-Wan has a writing assignment. Can it be done?

**Disclaimer: **WHY do I need this? We all know I don't own Star Wars. If I did I would…Well then I would…You know I could…Face it, I would run it into the ground.

Happy Reading!

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_The wind rustled through the trees as dusk fell. Suddenly, a flash of light and explosion rocked the building as the grenade explo_

Blinking, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi apprentice, stared at the only line on his fresh page. The assignment had been easy at first. He was simply supposed to somehow in the span of one day capture the essence of being alive.

As far as he was concerned, being alive was a rush. The rush itself was dependent on many factors; most notably of the factors happened to be his master. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn had a knack for picking the most adventurous of missions possible. To the young Jedi's continued surprise, the missions always seemed to start neutrally and end up with a rampage through the streets while blasters fired behind them. If the Force were feeling particularly benevolent that day, it would involve a chase through the roofs of buildings as well. No mission would be complete, however, without a grandiose feast after said chase, most often with the youngest of the pair sitting next to one of the individuals responsible for "the slight misunderstanding".

He continued to stare at the practically bare page.

_Tick-Toc_ went the clock as the time paced by him.

Sighing faintly, he leaned back, the chair creaking in protest at the slight movement. With a flick of a manicured finger, a music player attached to his bedside table whirred to life. Listlessly, the sandy-haired youth drowned in the tone weaving into the air. It was a slow, methodical tune and he felt himself begin to doze off. The skip button depressed after another slight turn of his hand. Another slow song droned on as he closed his eyes, heaving another sigh.

He was bored. He was beyond bored. He was tired, out of ideas and completely bored. Standing, the boy dragged his protesting body to the bed and, unceremoniously, dropped face first onto the plump mattress. Reaching out blindly he pressed the skip button once more—far harder then he needed to. This time, the song that floated out sounded almost evil. The beat pulsed heavy in the air as the lyrics of death and murder jabbed at his tired ears.

He slammed the off switch.

From somewhere out in the living quarters floated a new tone.

"Obi-Wan?"

The named boy lifted his head enough to face the door.

"Yes, Master?" he called back.

"Are you having trouble?"

The young Jedi thought a moment as he looked towards his writing assignment on the polished desk.

"Yes, master. I think I need a change of scene. May I be excused from evening meal?"

His master said nothing but the shove through the Force was word enough. Standing sluggishly, he pulled his knee length travel cloak from the back of the desk chair. As he walked past the kitchen he could hear his master clanking pots as he began evening meal.

"Thank you, Master." He said as the door to their shared apartment swished open. While the cold air from the hall blasted his face and shoulders, he only noticed the warmth in the back of his mind as his master brushed his shield.

Qui-Gon Jinn was a man of many words while, at the same time, a man of few. It had taken Obi-Wan many years to discover the fine balance between the two in his master. After several particularly taxing missions, both physical and mental, he had begun to appreciate the things his master didn't say. Had he been a few years younger, Obi-Wan would never have noticed the small brushes to the shields he had so expertly created. Now, he couldn't imagine not having his master there, on the edge of his mind, ready to jump after him. His master almost never said he was proud of him, at least not outright. Obi-Wan knew it was there, though. It was in the way his work-worn hand would grasp his student's shoulder with more pressure then he normally used, or the way his eyes seemed to sparkle with some hidden mischief—even after dressing his apprentice down over prank. No, Obi-Wan's master said very little if it wasn't directly related to the task at hand. What he didn't say, however, were the most beautiful things Obi-Wan had ever heard.

The young man took only a moment to take in the strength of the Force signature before moving into the hall. As the door rushed closed behind him, he began to walk. His stormy eyes glanced around the hall as he walked aimlessly. The traffic had ebbed slightly as the sunlight faded into the night. As the planet was completely city, the traffic never fully stopped. Of course, the lanes would be sparse around sunset, but they would bustle once more as the dawn approached and workers both came home after a long shift or left for work. The city worked all day, every day. If one wanted sleep, one needed to live with blackout shields and soundproofing.

_And central heat,_ thought the youth, tugging the snaps into place over his chest. The temple was most often warm but not every hall within her walls had travelers. As such, not everything needed to be heated.

As the light-haired youth turned a corner, he found himself facing a new door. This door had been there his whole life, he was sure, but he didn't remember ever passing though it. Seeing no danger in the situation, the Jedi pulled the heavy door and walked in.

His feet crunched as he walked through the fragrant room. Looking down, he noticed crisp and fresh grass sprouting to his ankle. All around him he could see nothing but flowers, trees and brightly colored insects. Walking slowly through the unknown garden, he let his fingers run over a hedge to his left. The leaves were slightly fuzzy and tickled his fingertips before they folded in on themselves and tucked into each other.

He smiled as he ran not only his fingers but his whole hand across the retreating bush. To his astonishment, the leaves did not move. Watching, he gently ran his fingers over the same leaves. This time, however, they began to fold and curl around each other. He lay his hand flat onto the leaves, and they did nothing once more.

"You have to tickle them," came a voice behind him.

Spinning, the young man reached for his 'saber. The voice laughed.

From behind a tall tree stepped a Jedi. His tunic was gone, while his undershirt and pants were covered in dirt. In his hand he held a battered tin watering can. Obi-Wan dropped his defensive stance.

"Forgive me," the apprentice said, "I did not mean to intrude on your garden."

The elder Jedi smiled kindly and nodded, setting down the watering can.

"You have to be gentle with this breed. If you use force, they push back. If you tickle them, they try to hide. Really, they are shy things. Much like lost students."

Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile at the good natured jab.

"I'm not lost," he explained, "I'm trying to escape."

"Ah," said the older man as he walked past Obi-Wan, "to what are you trying to escape and how."

Deciding almost instantly that he liked this Jedi, Obi-Wan followed a few paces behind.

"I have a writing assignment and I seem to be stuck."

"Seem to be? Well are you stuck or are you not stuck."

The emphasis on the "seem to be" had the younger man blushing slightly. He was stuck, if truth be told. That didn't mean he had to put a label on it.

Following the dusty Jedi, Obi-Wan found himself in a well maintained gazebo. The white stained wood was all but hidden from view by the creeping vines, though it managed to stand out all the same between the almost neon green leaves.

"Now," said the master as he gingerly sat on one of the bench seats, "you have to write something and you are stuck. What are you supposed to be writing about, as opposed to intruding on my gardening?"

Yes, Obi-Wan liked this one. He was like Qui-Gon, only talkative, but just as straight forward.

"The instructions were anything but clear," he said, lips quirking up a bit, "just to write something about the 'essence of being alive'."

"Mm. How may pages?"

"None listed. Whatever it takes to write the assignment."

"What kind of format?"

"None listed. Whatever it takes to write the assignment."

"You sound like a broken record."

"A what?"

The Jedi laughed, his voice deep and rumbling.

"By the way, young Jedi, you haven't thrown me your name. Might I have it? I will just have to call you Broken Record if you don't."

"That is alright. I have enough trouble with nicknames as it is. I'm Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The master returned the smile as he extended his dirt covered hand, "That is a much better name. Mine would be Master Jonas Ten'slo. It is a pleasure to meet you Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan took master Ten'slo's hand in his and shook it firmly.

Master Jonas Ten'slo liked to be called Jonas. He was a rather odd Jedi in the eyes of the order but to Obi-Wan he was simply misunderstood. He was tall, being nearly a foot above Obi-Wan, and thickly built. Jonas had enjoyed many years in the field, mostly dealing with missions that required both excessive physical and mental strength. As he began to age, he found he no longer enjoyed field work. It was in his late 40s that he founded the hidden garden. Every chance he got, he would tend to the growing seeds. Now, many years later, when the salt and pepper had fully taken over his once dark locks, he had a lush, beautiful Eden.

"Not afraid to get a bit dirty, I see."

"No," replied the youth, "with the missions my master gets, I think I spend my time covered in more mud then a gardener."

"Oh, ho!" cried Jonas, "a sharp tac you are! If you must know, I know who you are. Master Jinn has great taste in missions. It isn't his fault you can't keep up with the old man."

This time, both Jedi laughed.

Shaking lightly, Obi-Wan was the first to compose himself.

"You are not helping me. My writing assignment?"

The master looked over the younger Jedi before standing and leaving the gazebo. Obi-Wan, confused, stood and followed him. Side by side they walked into a patch of short grass. Turning, Master Jonas sat down and threw himself back. Crossing his feet at his ankles and his arms behind his head, the master was the picture of comfort.

Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side, wondering. Master Jonas simple peered at him though the corner of his eye before closing them. Shrugging, the light haired youth lay down on the grass, lacing his fingers to rest over his belly.

Jonas shifted slightly to peer at the youth.

"What does the grass sound like?"

Obi-Wan's eyebrows closed together. He turned his head this way and that, trying to catch the sound in his ear.

"It sounds…crispy."

"Alright, what else."

"Clean?"

"How can you tell when something sounds clean?"

Obi-Wan let out a rush of air through his nose as he closed his eyes, "I don't know that is just the only word that comes to mind. It sounds fresh, untouched, you know, clean."

"Alright, what about the wind. What does it taste like."

This time, Obi-Wan sat up and stared at the man lying beside him.

Jonas simply grabbed the hood of the student's jacket and pulled him back down.

Huffing, Obi-Wan took a guess.

"Like water. It tastes moist, like it is going to rain. Like the dirt under the grass and the flowers by the entrance."

"There is the answer to your assignment."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You said the essence of being alive. You breathe, you hear, you taste, what is the essence of being alive if it isn't simply being alive in general?"

Obi-Wan looked above them at the simulated clouds. He had never thought about it that way before.

"What is life," continued the master, "but the moments of time that we let pass as we rush through. What is life, but the moment we stop and enjoy the slower things, like the sound of the grass or the taste of the wind? Now, if you will excuse me, I have some plants to tend."

Obi-Wan hardly noticed the departure of the older man.

He took a slow breath. Then another and, for good measure, took a few more.

Then, with no effort at all, composed his entire paper in his mind.

_The grass sounds clean in my ear. The wind, what little there is, taste like water on my lips. I can smell the light as it tickles my nose. Tomorrow I may be shot at, but today I can simply breathe._

_I am alive._

Obi-Wan Kenobi received the highest score on his paper and was, in fact, the only student in his class to pass it at all.

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Notes:

"In philosophy, **essence** is the attribute or set of attributes that make an object or substance what it fundamentally is, and which it has by necessity, and without which it loses its identity." (Wiki)

"_What does the grass sound like…what does the wind taste like."_

These are real questions I was asked in my journalism class. I was asked to describe what I saw in terms of the senses. I ended up lying on the grass outside the classroom nearly snoozing in the sun. When the Professor saw me, he posed those questions. What Obi-Wan said were my responses to them.

_The grass sounds clean…_

Obi-Wan's paper is my paper. That was what I turned in for the assignment stated above. Everyone passed the assignment, but I decided that Obi-Wan needed to be the smartest one in the room. He is always getting beaten up and reprimanded almost every time he opens his mouth in The Phantom Menace (I just finished reading the book) so I had some mercy on him.


End file.
